


(you are everything i want) 'cause you are everything im not

by Anonymous



Category: HOTSHOT (Band), JBJ (Band), UNB (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Slash, Pre-debut, San doesn't understand he has a crush that's the fic, Trainee Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “So you’re replacing Byungwoon,” he says, words slow, “huh, ok.  I’m Choi Junhyuk.”He turns to look at the boys behind him, and Sanghyuk gets the feeling that Junhyuk is someone he’s going to be listening to a lot, as they all take turns introducing themselves.There’s aKim Moonkyu, a Noh Taehyun, Ha Sungwoon.Sanghyuk shakes all their hands, mumbles his name right back to them.The last boy steps up closer to him, pushes his hand out.  His eyes are sleepier than the rest, his hair long, falling around his ears.“I’m Go Hojung,” he says, Sanghyuk looks down at his hand, offers his own.  It’s warm and soft, and Sanghyuk stares a bit as Go Hojung’s hand swallows his own.“Yoon Sanghyuk,” he whispers.





	(you are everything i want) 'cause you are everything im not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mangafanxd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangafanxd/gifts).



> this is for [mangafanxd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangafanxd/profile) !
> 
> thank you so much for the prompts and for how open they all were. i honestly liked them all and i might end up going back and writing some of them too lol ;; i tried to hit a couple of ideas you gave and write something that could be nice to read (?). 
> 
> also some plot notes; this is an au so i changed some parts of how san joined, aka i changed it all completely for fake deep plot lol. also yes i know he's changed his name to san but i figured he still went by sanghyuk during his trainee time so idk and also the timeline is wonky/deff an au because of the absence of byungwoon ok thats it sorry if any of these are a turn off
> 
>  
> 
> ~~im sorry if this isn't what you were expecting please let me know and i can try to make it up to you!~~
> 
>  
> 
> happy holidays! and i hope this is at least a little bit enjoyable!

The morning air lingers cooly.  

The streets under them are crowded with the rush hour of the early risers, morning commutes to work.

Sanghyuk balances the tray of drinks in one hand, climbing up the stairs in a hurry.  He takes a deep breath, winces to himself as it burns inside his lungs, his sides stitching with his efforts.  His lanyard is twisted uncomfortably around his neck, the stiff polyester digs into his skin and he huffs as he finally makes it to his floor.

He takes a second before entering the office floor, wiping the sweat gathering at his forehead with the sleeve of his now too hot cardigan.

He makes sure he has a smile on, attempting to look as cool and collected as people expect him to be.  

When he pushes through the door there’s a bustle of people rushing to get work done.  He smiles at the few people who make eye contact with him, still has to remind himself that he doesn’t have to greet them with a bow.  Sanghyuk walks briskly to the back, towards the work tables, littered with papers and pins.

“ _Coffee’s here_ ,” he says, voice soft as he speaks, the language familiar to him but still awkward, syllables bumping together.

The girl working at the back of the station looks up at him, smiling.  Her hair is blonde, curling into a bob.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says, French sounding like the perfectly melodic incantation that was always out of Sanghyuk’s reach.

“ _Where are the others_?” he asks, sliding the tray of drinks across the work table, reaching for a pin cushion.

She gestures towards the back, where the conference room is located, “ _The usual_ ,” she says.

It doesn’t take much before the room is flooded with people, cutting, sketching, pinning, stitching.  Sanghyuk sits in a high rise stool, bend over the worktable, trying to get the lines of the pattern straight.

It’s like any other day.  People pick up their coffee, say their thanks quickly and rush to their next task.

Sanghyuk has to remind himself not to bow back in response, instead smiles, mumbles a soft  _de rien_ and picks up his own list of things to do.

People still filter in and out, people still talk loudly across the floor.  People still try to rush as much as they can without sacrificing quality.

Sanghyuk finishes stitching together the pattern, the color blocking, the plating, the lace work.  His fingers hurt from the pressure, his back aching from being bend over for way too long.

He gets up late, the sun is gone, people trickling away from their work stations, from the conference rooms, towards their beds, away from the glass building.

He says his goodbyes quietly, feeling oddly sentimental.  His breath catches in his throat, thick and uncomfortable, stomach a hollow feeling.

He walks into the cool summer night, street much more deserted.  

He looks one last time at the building, as the glass door closes, his eyes catching the glossy  _c_ of their logo for the last time.

It’s his last day here.  

Sanghyuk turns away and starts walking to his apartment.

Tomorrow he’ll be flying back home.

-

His apartment is small, an open floor room.  His bed in one corner, the kitchen in the other.  He has dying plants in mismatched pots, he’ll leave them for the next tenants.  Yellow, curling leaves, wilting stems, unruly roots.

His bed is still bare from the morning, from when he has unpeeled the covers, folding them neatly into his luggage, his eyes flicker to his suitcase, neatly by the kitchen.

He lets himself drop into his bed, sunk in, found in a flea market, but a comfort he’s grown to like.  

“Six more hours,” he murmurs to himself, staring at his ceiling, “then 14 more hours,” he counts the hours in his head, easy, math, “20 hours.”

He falls asleep easily, the noises from outside are farway, the sound of car wheels rolling over concrete, the steps of people still awake, going out to eat, to shows, on dates, parties.

The orange glow of the streetlights wash over his room, slanted planes of light on the tiled floor.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and thinks about home, about his mom, about how long he has been gone.

He falls asleep like that.

-

Korea is hot.  

Sanghyuk lands a whole day later, layovers tiring, body caught between times.  He has a drive home to take. His mom will coddle him, ask him how he feels, tell him she’s missed him,  _you’re so skinny, you’ve gotten so much taller, i didn’t leave you like this._

He’s sweating, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.  He pulls his suitcase with him, towards the exit, where taxis line up to pick up people.

The city flies away from him.  He rests his head on the cool window, the ac in the car cooling him down.  The buildings go blurry with his spacing out, blobs of gray and white, stretching high.

Eventually the taxi stops, at a street Sanghyuk has never seen but his mother had given him the address to, their new home away from him.

His home now.

The door opens when he’s struggling to pull out his suitcase, it clunks heavily into the sidewalk, he winces knowing the wheels are probably scuffed.

“Sanghyuk,” his mom calls out, rushing towards him.

He hasn’t heard his name like that in a long time, in that accent, that cadence.  

He’s too used to San Yoon,  _San_.

He lets himself be hugged, pulled down for a kiss to his cheek, and he smiles.

“You’re so skinny,” his mom says, exactly how he imagined it, “I didn’t leave you like this.”

Two out of three.

“ _Umma_ ,” he whines, a habit he’s slipping into too quickly.

She pulls away, smiling at him as he starts to push him towards their house, “lets eat,” she says.

-

His new room is small, floor wooden paneling, ceiling low.  His bed is new, he can tell, firm but giving, it makes him want to lay on it forever.  He rolls his covers from his old bed over his new ones, wrinkled, smelling like his old apartment.

It’s dark, they;re away from the big city, night darker than he’s used to.

He lays on his bed, stomach full of food he hasn’t eaten in years, names that his mouth are remembering how to say.  His words to his mother awkwardly in between foreign and familiar, words running together clumsily, stilting unsure.

His mom will go to work tomorrow and Sanghyuk is not sure what he’s going to do, how to deal with being back home.

It makes him nervous, he takes a deep breath.

He falls asleep thinking about what he’s missed.

-

The summer is scalding hot.  

Sanghyuk only has a fan to keep him cool.

He’s gotten a new job, helping at a supermarket, stocking up merchandise and produce.

Is not glamorous, a far far cry from what he was doing a couple of weeks ago.

But he likes it.

It’s mindless, numbing, an automatic action.

His body aches after a long day of moving and stacking boxes, carrying heavy buckets of water, stock of snacks and juices.

He earns more than he was expecting from a family business, it’s enough for him not to feel so useless, helping his mom pay for things around the house.

Sanghyuk spends most of his day at work, talking to the elderly women coming in, smiling at them as best as he can when they approach him.  He reaches for boxes too high, helps carry bags for them.

Then he goes home and sits in front of his fan, closing his eyes as the warm air hits him.

He eats dinner with his mom, they talk about their days, and Sanghyuk’s mind drifts away, towards  _what ifs_ and old memories.

-

He keeps his sketchbooks in a small shelf by his bed.  They’re all leather bound, pages fraying. Sanghyuk flips through them, designs he’s thought were good, designs he imagined one day would be everywhere.  Now they leave a bit of bitter taste in his mouth. He thumbs slowly at the pages until a page flashes at him, words instead of colors, scrawl at the right side of the page, a neat column.

He turns the pages back until he finds it, reading the words of a poem he had written.

Sanghyuk reads it, mouthing the words to himself.  He’d meant this to be a rap, he remembers, smiling to himself.  He pulls out another sketchbook, flipping pages until he finds another verse, then another, littering more pages with each new sketchbook.

It’s an interest he’s had, if he’s honest with himself, but something he never really considered doing, everything focusing on his designs, his work.

But, he thinks, he’s in Korea now, it’s still a dream but it’s something he can at least do to a certain extent.  He’s aware of the idol craze,  _a long shot_ , and the underground rap scene, something more tangible.  

He puts away his sketchbooks, leaving out his newest one, only a couple of pages filled with designs and color schemes.  Sanghyuk opens it to a new page and starts to look for a pen.

-

He finally finds a chance to go to an event.  It’s late at night, long after his shift but he still finds the energy to take the subway across town.  The venue is a small club, clean but suffocating. He stays by the back wall, eyes squinting at the bright lights of the stage.  Sanghyuk waits patiently for the show to start. He’s not allowed to drink so he tries not to make eye contact with the bartender, afraid they’ll know right away that he’s underaged.

He doesn’t have to wait long before the crowd starts to call out, yelling and jeering as the lights dim.

Sanghyuk watches as someone walks onto the stage, dressed in black and baggy clothes.  The music from the speakers hits heavy, Sanghyuk feels the way it vibrates through the room.

Sanghyuk presses closer to the wall once the boy on stage starts to start interact with the crowd, then rapping along to the loud beat.

-

Sanghyuk walks out of the club a couple of hours later.  There’s people walking beside him, trickling out of the performance into the late night summer night.

He stays close to himself, hunching his shoulders into himself to avoid any form of interaction.  Someone pushes a flyer into his hand, the glossy paper cold in between his closed fist. He walks briskly to the subway station.

It’s only when he’s sitting in the empty subway cart does he look at the flyer.  He smooths it over his knee, pressed between his palm. The cart rattles along the railings, jostling him a bit as he tries to read the words.

_K.O Entertainment Auditions_

Sanghyuk reads the lists of requirements.  There aren’t a lot. They’re looking for rappers more than anything.  Sanghyuk looks at the address of the company. He hasn’t heard of K.O Entertainment, he figures it must be a small company.  There’s dates listed for auditions and Sanghyuk thinks about it for a second. He considers for just a fraction of a moment, the idea of being a rap idol trainee.

He laughs quietly to himself, finding the visual funny.

The cart lurches forward with his stop. Sanghyuk gets up, leaves the cart and the flyer behind in between the seats.

-

Sanghyuk’s summer stretches on endlessly.  His muscles ache from all the lifting. But he finds that he likes it, likes feeling tired, like he’s done something, a reminder of a good day.  

He gets home after sun sets, eats the food his mother has cooked and goes to his room.  He spends time writing lyrics, or at least attempting too, trying to figure out rhyme and flow.  It’s frustrating but like everything, Sanghyuk likes that it incites a reaction, that it reminds him that he’s doing something challenging.

-

Sanghyuk bites his tongue when he finally sees the building.  He had tried to forget the dates, the name of the company but it had eaten away at him between his days.  The day is hot, he can feel the way sweat gathers around his temples.

K.O Entertainment only has one floor in the building.  Sanghyuk wonders if it’ll even be worth it. There’s people walking around him, knocking into him.  It jostles him and he starts to move again.

There’s really not as many people as he was expecting.  There are enough people that he has to stand, all the chairs taken.  But he doesn’t feel like he’s crowded. People go out one by one as their numbers are called and Sanghyuk feels the way nervousness begins to build as they get closer to his number.

It all becomes too stressful and Sanghyuk has never understood when people described a moment as blur.  But he manages to go through his audition, through his evaluation, through his meeting with the CEO and he doesn’t remember how he gets home.  He lays down on his bed, heart speeding up as he remembers the words of acceptance, the terms and conditions explained to him. The position he was meant to fulfill if he worked hard.

He bites down a smile and wills himself to sleep.

-

He stays quiet as one of the company workers takes out a ring of keys.  Sanghyuk has his bags behind him, a book bag and a rolling suitcase.

The person in front of him doesn’t give him any reassurance, pushes the door open into a dark room.

“Stay here,” he says to Sanghyuk, walks down the narrow hallway, turning on the lights as he walks away from him.

Sanghyuk keeps a hold of his bags, body tensed as nothing happens.

He hears footsteps after a couple of minutes.  He feels vile rising, edged on by his nerves. The man from before comes back, but Sanghyuk’s eyes focus on the line of boys filing behind him, eyes wide awake but clearly tired.

“This is Yoon Sanghyuk,” he says once they all gather in the small living room, “he’s the new rapper trainee, he motions to him, as if to make sure they understand, “he’ll be joining you.”

The other boys don’t say anything and Sanghyuk starts to feel a new wave of uncertainty, a fear of judgement creeping in.

The silence must be palpable, the man clears his throat and speaks again, “be nice to him,” he says, voice warning, “he’s sticking around.”

He can feel the way those words change the air around them, everything going rigid.

“Ok,” one of them says, eyes sharp, Sanghyuk notices, a lot taller than him.

The door closes loudly and then they’re alone now.  Sanghyuk realizes they’re waiting for him to do, say something.  So he bows, still holding on to his bags, the whole movement awkward.

“I’m Yoon Sanghyuk,” he says, voice low, quiet, “I hope we can get along.”

There isn’t  response right away, Sanghyuk shifts nervously, uncomfortable under all of their gazes.

“So you’re replacing Byungwoon,” he says, words slow, “ _huh_ , ok.  I’m Choi Junhyuk.”

He turns to look at the boys behind him, and Sanghyuk gets the feeling that Junhyuk is someone he’s going to be listening to a lot, as they all take turns introducing themselves.

There’s a  _Kim Moonkyu, a Noh Taehyun, Ha Sungwoon._

Sanghyuk shakes all their hands, mumbles his name right back to them.  

The last boy steps up closer to him, pushes his hand out.  His eyes are sleepier than the rest, his hair long, falling around his ears.

“I’m Go Hojung,” he says, Sanghyuk looks down at his hand, offers his own.  It’s warm and soft, and Sanghyuk stares a bit as Go Hojung’s hand swallows his own.

“Yoon Sanghyuk,” he whispers.

-

Trainee life is hard.  

But Yoonsan likes it.

He likes learning and practicing rap.  He likes the way his body hurts after long hours of dancing, he likes learning choreography.

He’s learned to find a friendship with the other boys.  They skirt around him at first, as if not sure just how permanent really is.  Sanghyuk picks up bits and pieces of a previous trainee, Byungwoon, who had left due to some complications.  

But eventually the quiet treatment towards him turns into encouraging pats, smiles at him, conversations beyond just what they’re learning for the day.

He sits closer to them during breaks, listens to their conversations.  He tries to add his own input but he feels so out of the loop, in the middle of conversations that have obviously started before he showed up.

He nods along, either way, because it seems to be what the others want, satisfied that he’s gotten closer to them.  

He has an easy temperament.  Sanghyuk is a bit easy to get along with.  He doesn’t say much, doesn’t do much. Doesn’t resist much.

This is how Sanghyuk has lived the 18 years of his life.

-

He and Hojung end up sharing a room together.

Sanghyuk sometimes watches him when they’re getting ready to sleep.

Sanghyuk is only a couple of months older than him.  But Hojung is much taller, slimmer, boyish looking. His voice is what gives it away.  Still a bit high pitched.

There’s moments when Hojung acts as young as he is.  The times between their schedule where there’s nothing to do but rest.  And Hojung finds the nearest member and  _clings_.

It looks almost funny, when he grips on to the smallest members and just holds on, whining, pouting, demanding affection.

Sanghyuk’s stomach drops when he thinks about Hojung holding on to him.  His skin prickles with shudders. He realizes that it’s not  _unpleasant_ , the feelings he gets.  But rather unknown, new, uncharted.

But as the days trickle by he realizes, just how distant Hojung makes himself.  

It bothers Sanghyuk in a way that he has never experienced, an irritation that he really can’t begin to explain.

He thinks about it when he’s in bed and Hojung enters their shared room.  He thinks about it when they’re practicing and Hojung focuses on nothing but his reflection.  He thinks about it when he hears his laughter at a joke Taehyun has said, clearly amused, overly loud.

-

The tail-end of summer has finally arrived, Sanghyuk sits on the floor of their living room, mindlessly watching the television, a rerun of a music show.  

He sits next to Sungwoon, who is more easy to deal with, fueled by bursts of energy and not the constant hum of actions and movements from the others.

He’s falling asleep, eyes drooping when there’s sudden movement from Sungwoon, rustling and excited chattered.  And then a joined effort to sing  _happy birthday to you happy birthday to you_

Sanghyuk wakes up quickly with the jostling, the loud singing.  

He leans forward, eyes focusing as Moonkyu brings out a cake, setting right in front of him, smiling at him encouragingly, clapping along as they keep singing.

_happy birthday dear sanghyuk happy birthday to you_

Sanghyuk smiles as he gets pushed around, flinches when Junhyuk puts some of the frosting across his cheek playfully.  

He eats cake slowly as they all dote on him, making jokes, getting laughter from the youngest.  Sanghyuk smiles along, eating slowly.

He’s there but he feels like he’s out of place, still an awkward half attempted addition to the group.  He can’t look at the rest, keeps his eyes on the cake.

Even as they keep their attention on him, he really can’t acknowledge it.

-

They’re in their room after they clean up the cake, turn off the television.  Sanghyuk lays in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, pensive.

His eyes shift when the door opens and Hojung enters, wearing his sleep clothes, face clean, cheeks flushed.  Hojung doesn’t go to bed right away, instead puts his things away on the small dresser on his side of the room.  Sanghyuk sits up, fakes a cough.

Hojung turns to look at him, Sanghyuk flusters at the sudden attention, even if it’s what he wanted.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Hojung says clearly thinking this is about something else, “nobody told me.”

Hojung makes way to his own bed, sits at the side, gives Sanghyuk a small smile.

“It’s ok,” he says, “it’s not that important.”

The way he tries to be nonchalant, voice still shaky, Sanghyuk hides an embarrassed smile of his own.

“Happy birthday,” Hojung says quietly, Sanghyuk feels just how private this is.

“Thanks,” he answers quickly.

Hojung’s smile eases into a grin, one Sanghyuk hasn’t seen before, “you’re older than me now,” he says.

Sanghyuk pulls a confused face, when Hojung’s grin vanishes quickly, if he had blinked he would have missed it.  Hojung’s grin flickers quickly into a shy upturn.

Sanghyuk is even more intrigued by that, has more questions to ask about the younger boy.  

He takes a deep breath, steels himself, “come here,” he says, patting the side of the bed right next to him.

Hojung raises an eyebrow but does as he’s told.  He sits with just enough space between for Sanghyuk to notice, _understand_ , he’s been avoiding him.

Sanghyuk fights back the frown and turns to look at Hojung.

“You’re awkward with me,” he says, simply, bluntly, clumsily.

Hojung, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised or upset.

“A little bit,” he admits, “it’s hard to get used to new people.”

Sanghyuk understands this, he himself is an introvert and it has taken all of his efforts to even be able to keep up with the new group of boys in his life.  But he doesn’t want to be awkward with Hojung, not when the others act so easy with him.

“How can I make it not awkward?” he asks, wanting to make it easier between them, feeling the need to be the one to fix it.

Hojung takes a second to think, Sanghyuk worries when he sees the way his eyes flash before opening his mouth.

“Moonkyu-hyung and Sunwoong-hyung used to be awkward with each other,” he says, nothing else.

“How did they make it better?” Sanghyuk asks, thinking about how close the other two boys seem to be, always laughing, always together.

Hojung leans away, “They kissed.”

Sanghyuk blinks at that, leaning away, creating more space between them.

Hojung doesn’t look at him, the bed shifts, Sanghyuk knows he’s about to leave.

He reaches out, wraps his fingers around his wrist.  

Hojung shuffles as he's pulled down, hand curling into a fist.

Sanghyuk acts in what feels like slow motion, brain sluggish, still processing Hojung’s words as he leans closer, pulls Hojung to him.

He kisses his cheek, quick and soft, just enough for him to feel the warmness of Hojung’s skin.  He can feel the way Hojung goes stiff, and then slumping forward, as if urging for Sanghyuk to kiss him again, challenging him to actually press, stay closer to him.

Sanghyuk lets go of his wrist, but Hojung doesn’t pull away.  He doesn’t do anything, he just stays.

A smile spreads slowly, not a grin, not a small secret smile.  A wide, toothy smile, handsomely crooked.

“OK,  _hyung_ ,” he says, finally leaning back again, “let’s not be awkward anymore.”

-

Days go on.

Sanghyuk gets comfortable with the aches, the strains, the nonstop, unrelenting fight for sleep.

And in the small moments where he can catch his breath, he becomes used to the way Hojung stands a little bit closer to him.  How he offers a smile just a little bit easier, a bit less restrained. How he presses a little closer when they’re crowded into a car, lets himself lean for just a second longer towards him when they watch television.

But it still feels off.

Because Sanghyuk doesn’t know how to act.

He doesn’t wrap his arm around Hojung like how Sungwoon does.

He can't smile back at Hojung like how Junhyuk can.

Sanghyuk can’t do it.

And he wonders why.

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he wants so badly to be easy to get along with.  To let it go by like he’s used to. But he sets up barriers on his own, moves away when Hojung moves closer.

A push and pull where all Sanghyuk does is pull away.

The summer runs into fall, days cooling.

Sanghyuk nearly has a heart attack when he startles awake, someone shaking him from sleep.

He knows it’s Hojung, closes his eyes tighter, pretends to still be sleeping, undisturbed.

Hojung shakes him a second time, but Sanghyuk doesn’t really want to be confronted by the other.  He hears the creak of his bed as Hojung shifts, then warm breath as Hojung whispers.

“A kiss to make it better.”

Before he can open his eyes, heart starting to beat rapidly, nervously.

He feels chapped lips pressed to his, softly, unsure, faint.

Hojung gets up, moves away quickly.  Sanghyuk stays still, in shock, frozen in disbelief.

Hojung must be moving recklessly, as he stumbles over something on the floor, the sound of most likely a book skidding across the floor.

Eventually it all goes quiet.

Sanghyuk holds his breath.

He wonders if he can pretend like that never happened, like that wasn’t his first kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~i could probably write more to this tbh!~~


End file.
